Saturday, March 29, 2008

Function Creates Form: A Look at the Zelda Series Unifiying Design Philosophies

Form fits function: The cornerstone design philosophy of all of Nintendo’s greatest games. However, for two of my favorite Zelda games, a new phrase must be coined about the relationship of form and function found within their core design. For the purposes of this essay, I will examine how “function creates form” in The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass and in its spiritual sister game The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask.

True to what has now become classic Zelda form, both Majora’s Mask and Phantom Hourglass share many of the same functions between them and all other Zelda games. The main character is a youthful, mute, sword wielding, adventurous tike who risks life and limb to overcome the challenges set against him and/or the world he currently occupies. When I say “function creates form” I am looking past these obvious similarities and zooming straight to the core gimmick of each game. The first thing that pops into any gamers head when Majora’s Mask is mentioned is probably Clock Town and how the game repeats itself in a three day cycle. Likewise, for Phantom Hourglass, controlling the game via the Nintendo DS touch screen, drawing on the maps, and the Temple of the Ocean King are the unique identifiers. I should mention I use gimmick in a strictly positive sense. When I do, I don’t refer a mechanic intended to deceive or trick, but rather a sometimes hidden innovation intended to attract attention and increase the unique value of a product or work. To the conscious gamer, many gimmicks are identified after they have failed in their deception. I assure you, Majora’s Mask and Phantom Hourglass are on the highest level of design for the use of their gimmicks of repeated time and drawing on maps respectively.

Both Majora’s Mask and Phantom Hourglass use repeated time to continually expose the player to the same information and scenarios that transform over time. Majora’s Mask features the bustling city known as Clock Town. For three days, everyone in the city, and for that matter, then entire game world is busy doing something specific at every moment. Some are building structures in the town, others are working in the local inn, and others still are simply living out their days. Over time, the player is exposed to more and more characters that simply cannot be experienced in one 3 day period. This design in itself, is quite remarkable. Essentially, after 3 days the world is reset, and the player is brought back to the beginning of the cycle. Every 3 days the world repeats, yet time and progress for the player continues to grow. This is because, though time may repeat, the player carries the experiences, knowledge, and items he/she has gained previously. And, in true Zelda fashion that unifies the gimmick and the core gameplay, with every upgrade, piece of knowledge, or new ability that is gained, Clock Town transforms. With every repeated cycle, the player knows where more characters are, what their doing, and how to help them. With every race transformation, new dialog options between characters are opened, and with each transformation comes a new way to traverse the diverse world. With each of the game’s 20 masks comes a new perspective on the world that literally transforms the player’s physical appearance and the way they look at the world. All of Majora’s Mask’s themes, character, locations, and mechanics mostly revolve around Clock Town. It’s the center target for life and the target for the central conflict.

Likewise, The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass shares a mechanically analogous design to Majora’s Mask. During the first few years of the DS’s life, many raised complaints that the second screen in the dual screened device was only used to display maps while the game screen was displayed on the other screen in a very ordinary and uncreative fashion. Though these top screen maps were convenient in games like Casltlevania: Dawn of Sorrow and Kirby Canvas Curse, when the designers wove the design into the core gameplay experience like in Mario Kart DS and Phantom Hourglass, all disappointed retrospection disappeared. Some even made exclamations like “how could I have played a racing/Zelda game without this feature.” The heart of Phantom Hourglass is still the heart of any great Zelda game. But the primary gimmick isn’t touch screen controls, rather it is drawing on maps.

At its finest use, drawing notes on the maps in Phantom Hourglass function as a message left for yourself from the past that transforms the way you view the world around you presently. But before I speak on that level of design, I’ll start with the lowest most “gimmicky” use of Phantom Hourglass’ gimmick. The lowest used of map scribing is drawing picture or jokes that have nothing to do with the solving puzzles. I only mention this because of how the form of a pen and paper coupled with the function of infinite ink and infinite erasure appeals to the average player. Being neat, efficient, and only scribing relevant material on one’s maps comes second to freely expressing oneself. Pictochat can attest to that fact. Such a form creates a freedom that instantly personalizes one’s maps and one’s gaming experience.

Moving upward in map drawing design is writing notes as a substitute for using one’s short term memory. In other words, just because you can. When a towns’ person told me I could find something interesting in a particular tree on Mercay island that was really only a few steps away, I went ahead and jotted it down on my map. Puzzles that require levers to be pulled in a specific order fall into this category as well. Such elements ease the player into using the touch screen to write notes without forcing them to do so. There are some cases where the game takes out the maps for you or when characters remind you several times to jot the information down. But even in these cases, the player is hardly forced. In this way, drawing on maps becomes a easy and natural extension of the players thoughts and memory.

On the next level are the spatial and image puzzles. In order to find the right location to dig a hole in order to enter a secret base on Molida Island, players are told to draw lines from specific land marks that they must search out on for themselves on foot. After locating each landmark and marking it on the map, the player must draw lines between them to find the “x” that marks the spot. Such a puzzle is difficult to solve without the bird’s eye view of the area as well as the ability to “connect the dots.” Additionally, some puzzles require players to remember specific shapes. To quickly travel around the ocean, the player can summon cyclones to transport them. In order to determine one’s landing site, players have to draw specific shapes on their Cyclone Slate that correspond to locations on the ocean. These shapes are abstract to the English and Japanese alphabet making memorizing all 6 symbols difficult. For these puzzles, the touch screen functions as the paper you would have had to find and write on in order to solve them without stress. Though the game never tells the player specifically to write each symbol on the map at the location where they would be transported, at this point in the game, identifying one’s location and marking the relevant information accordingly is second nature. Unlike many of the puzzles described in the previous level of the drawing on map design, these puzzles emphasis writing notes relative to specifics locations or areas found on the map. This design feature alone takes the player from note taker to cartographer.

All three of the previous design levels work together to give the player the abilities needed to be their own instrument that independently powers their transformation of the game world. By going through the previous levels, the player is now used to jotting down information whether or not it seems pertinent to any future puzzle, using the touch screen as a supplement to their own memory, and being aware that the map helps them visualize a given area as a unified space that exists beyond what can be seen at any one time in the frame of the game’s view. If something looks suspicious, the player takes a note of it. If the player wonders of future possibilities, they jot that down as well. By writing on the maps, the player catalogues his/her thoughts which reflect their current understanding of the game world. And by revisiting these areas, the past is met with the present bringing together the two different states of the player. What looked like a strange hole before, becomes an opportunity to discover a secrete now that the player has a new item that can squeeze through such holes. True to Zelda fashion, with each item comes a new way to move and explore the game world that was virtually invisible and unreachable to them before. So when the player finds out that bombchus (little explosive robotic mice) can fit through these strange looking holes, if they marked other places they saw holes, then it’ll be easy for them to go back to previously visited areas. These areas will be new for the player because they have a new way to interact with the environment. This is the essence of the way the worlds in Zelda games transform but enhanced using Phantom Hourglass’ gimmick.

Unlike in Clock Town, where players reset to the same place and time every 3 day cycle and where the majority of the characters interact in a single location, Phantom Hourglass is much more open. The sea is yours to conquer and it’s pretty big especially considering it’s all on the Nintendo DS. In Phantom Hourglass, players can visit some islands once and never return. This makes all the notes left on that island’s map forgotten things of the past. Though the game does a good job of giving the player compelling reasons to revisit some areas, it’s still not enough to ensure that the most player would reach the highest level of design found in the map drawing gimmick. In other words, having the player revisit Mercay and Molida island throughout the game isn’t enough to develop a meaningful and satisfying transformation for the player. Also, these islands don’t have much going on (except the Temple of the Ocean King, which I’ll get to shortly). I can imagine the designers needed to find a way for players to continually revisit a single area without being able to exhaust it in a few passes. Furthermore, this area can’t bog down players who have a desire to linger in order to explore on their own. This is where the Temple of the Ocean King comes into play and why its design is reflective of the highest level of genius known to the Zelda series and subsequently to all videogames.

Instead of having time repeat to force the player to go through something again (hopefully with a new perspective), The Temple of the Ocean King was design with a time limit. According to the fiction, the Phantom Hourglass keeps Link protected from the evil forces that seek to drain away his life upon setting his first step into the temple. True to the form of an hourglass, time drains away steadily in the temple. When it gets to zero, the player’s health starts to drain away. If the player dies, it’s game over. This feature in itself is a way for the designer to control the players time in the Temple keeping the player‘s exploration time as short as need be. Throughout the game, players can get more time for their hourglass so that they can delve deeper into the temple. The more the player plays, the more the items and weapons they acquire on their adventure dynamically transform the temple. When before, players had to run completely around a Basement level 2 avoiding obstacles and hazards, now they can simply bomb a hole in the wall making a convenient shortcut. By the time the player enters the temple for the 4th time, it’s a completely different experience. Finding the short cuts and understanding how the temple changes dynamically over time can only be done once parts of it are played straight. This in itself creates momentum and a deeply satisfying sense of progression that makes returning to the temple an exciting opportunity for players to show the game, and themselves, how much they’ve learn and grown in such a short time.

Clock Town and the Temple of the Ocean King would not have been created if the designers weren’t looking for a unified way to bring together their unique gimmick and the core game play the Zelda series is well known for. These perfectly designed game areas cannot be duplicated even in other Zelda games. They’re a product of each game’s unique vision, gimmick, and refined gameplay. It never ceases to amaze me how important function is for the developers of the Zelda series. In an interview with Miyamoto, he described how Midna was created so that players have something to focus on when playing wolf Link. To him, staring at the tail end of a running animal wasn’t too appealing. Knowing how well integrated and pivotal Minda, the Twilight Princess, is to The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess is evidence that form is secondary to function.

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Updated Critical-Glossary

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Critical-Glossary

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Alphabetical

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abstract mechanic

Some gameplay mechanics are completely artificial, meaning they do not make logical sense based on the form of the game. When such mechanics are privileged within a game's design, we tend to label these games as being "arcade" like. I describe these gameplay mechanics as being abstract.

It is a design innovation that applies to games that are played in real time. By taking the progression of real time and breaking it down in specific contextual ways, a new level of game design can be reached. This is the essence of asynchronous time, or async.

In music, Counterpoint is the writing of musical lines that sound different on their own, but harmonize when played together. How the melody of a song interacts with the other lines is the focus of Counterpoint.

Counterpoint, in gaming, is a word for the way gameplay develops past optimization by layering interactive elements into a single gameplay experience. When each layer influcences, interacts, and enhances the functions/gameplay of each other layer the gameplay emerges into a medium of expression that reflects the individuality of a player and the dynamics that reflect the complexity of the world we live in.

A measure of how the changes in the method of input are paralleled with the action in the game according to the form of the mechanic. If you quickly press the green button on your controller, does the game quickly press the button on the screen? If you hold the button on your controller, is the button on the screen held down as well?

An measure of how the game world responds to the action. According to the form of the game world and the mechanic, does the world react realistically? What is the extent of the properties of the mechanic? Are the reactions to the mechanic special cases or can the resulting actions continue to effect the game world?

Like Marxist criticism, the most successful Feminist critique of a game involves analyzing how the range of player functions that affect female characters directly or indirectly reveal the operations of patriarchy. When the player is encouraged or forced to play in a way that depicts men as strong, rational, protective and women as weak, emotional, submissive, and nurturing, then the game can be said to support and reinforce patriarchal genders roles and ideologies. Patriarchal values work to oppress women, and all feminist theory and criticism works to promote women‘s equality. A Feminist analysis can become more complex when finding examples of actions toward women if a game doesn’t feature any women or the game allows for limited interaction with women. Writing essays about such games often leads to finding evidence by absence. In other words, a Feminist critic’s central piece of evidence may be what can’t be done to women instead of what can.

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flow

How a game accelerates or creates forward momentum. This factor of gameplay isn't necessarily about speed. More specifically, it looks at how a game's interactions feed back into the player's options/experience like a snowball rolling down hill.

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folded level design

Level design that resuses a space with the second use containing an extra layer to the gameplay that builds on the knowledge and experiences established on the first layer.

Form fits function is a powerful game design principle that has powered many of Nintendo's greatest games. Using familiar visuals, games can use their form to communicate to the player. If there is a ball resting on a tee and the player avatar has a golf club in their hands, they better be able to swing the club and hit the ball. Otherwise, why put such things in front of the player in the first place? Keeping the form true to the functions and limits of a game creates the cleanest most easily enjoyable experiences.

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function creates form

When a game's mechanics inspire, shape, and define the creation of ancillary parts of a game. ie. story, setting, premise, characters, music, audio

Interplay is the back and forth encouragement of player mechanics between any two elements in a game. Put simply, interplay is where actions and elements in a game aren't means to an end, but fluid opportunities that invite the player to play around with the changing situation.

A measure of the degree to which input method matches the form of the game. If there's a green button on the screen, and a green button on your game controller, the form of the game is liked to the input of pressing the green button on the controller.

Like Psychoanalytic criticism, Marxist criticism can seemingly critique a game by looking solely at a its fiction. However, both of these critical modes, in relation to videogames, achieve a deeper, more profound level of analysis when the elements of interactivity between the game and player are taken into consideration. Many Marxist critics of literature believe that film, literature, art, music, and other forms of entertainment such as videogames are the primary bearers of cultural ideologies. While we’re being entertaining by these medias, our defenses are lowered making us all the more susceptible to ideological programming. A Marxist critic of videogames looks for how a game supports or condems capitalist, imperialist, or classist values. Perhaps the best and most obvious place to look toward in games is the role and function of money. Some games represent money with actual U.S. dollars or some other form of real world currency. Others use fictional currency from bell, to gil, to star bits, or even points. What the player can purchase, how these items or services function, and how the money circulates within the game world all become important areas of analysis.

"New Classical criticism focuses on identifying a game's primary function/action that sums up all of the player's actions, functions, and abilities into a single expression. This expression can be thought of as the interpretation of the game or what the gamer is actually doing when he/she plays. Sometimes the primary function can be encapsulated in a single word. For example, the primary function of the Super Mario platforming series is "jump". After the primary function is identified, the New Classical critic then looks at a game's formal elements to analyze how they promote the primary function. The formal elements include Sound, Music, Art style, Story, Graphics, level design, enemies, etc. Because the New Classical critic privileges interactivity over passivity (especially when focused into a limited number of rules and actions), such a critic is only concerned with how these elements shape the gameplay experience, and assumes that any formal element in a game is only meaningful when it supports the primary function and exists in a lower state of priority to that function. In other words, elements like story can't be more stressed and more important to a game than the gameplay. Even if a game is designed according to the conventions and assumptions of Western game design, it can still be critiqued in the Classical mode."

A type of multi-fold level design where the creases and layers are so flexible and/or dynamic that considering the possibilities within a single level are interconnected and complex. Considering the shape created from a multi-fold level is similar to observing an origami figure.

For those who aren’t careful, a Psychoanalytic critique of a game appears to only be concerned with the fiction of a game and the relationship of the characters. Unless the game is Psychonauts, most games seem to have little to nothing to do with the human psyche. Neglecting how the game fiction and the gameplay (or game rules) come together to create the Psychological work in a game is a common pitfall. Another easy pitfall is to get wrapped up in Psychoanalyzing the developers of the game, or what may be infinitely more embarrassing, accidentally analyzing one’s own psychological state while trying to pass it off as an analysis of the game. Though it is true that the fiction of a game is an important part of any Psychoanalytic analysis, the gameplay is where the most profound sources of material because the interactivity of the game can influence and transform the player in more powerfully subtle ways than a passive medium.

The set of mechanics that do not make up the set of primary mechanics. These mechanics usually aid and help shape the primary mechanic.

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sections (sub-sections)

All games can be broken down into sub-sections or sections. Whether a game is broken down by rooms, loading sections, cut scenes, stages, levels, rounds, or turns, if a game has a mechanic that is repeated, then it can be divided into sections.

Structures are probably the most recognizable feature of videogames. Because structures create the foundation for the game rules and player to learn these rules, analyzing structure develops a clearer insight into how a game works at its core. We're all familiar with the structures of genre. Any gamer can instantly recognize a first person shooter like Halo from a puzzle game like Tetris. Each gaming genre has a certain look to it that is the result of the gameplay structures. Like with any genre, the degree to which the conventions are followed or deviated from varies greatly from game to game. Recognizing a game's structure is an acute way of talking about how a game works in or outside of its genre.

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suspension

In counterpoint, when a game element or game idea is offset form the established pattern of game ideas to create scenarios where the element/idea can carry over and influence other game ideas.

...about Critical-Gaming

We have come to a point where how we talk about video games is insufficient in expressing how we feel and think about them. With each year comes increasingly complex games, yet we are still, for the most part, writing and talking about games on a shallow consumer level.

It is time to start thinking and writing critically about games. However, before we can do this, we must approach gaming from a critical mode or mindset. To do this, we must first understand of how the different parts of a game work together (game design). Unfortunately, many of the who have experience in this area spend their time making video games. Beyond that, the body of knowledge that does exist is scattered at best. For this reason, it is hard for a thorough understanding of game design and critique to become widespread.

I have started this blog in efforts to inform both gamers and non-gamers of the complexities of gaming and how it compares to any other art form (music, literature, movies). Using literary critical theory and music theory as a starting point, I have developed a comprehensive set of critical modes for video game critique. By writing in these critical modes, and by critiquing other video game reviews, I hope to raise our understanding and expectations of video game journalism, critique, and even video games themselves.

We already have a loose idea of what it means to be a core gamer. A casual gamer. And a hardcore gamer. I hope with the right mindset, we can become critical-gamers, who don't shun our fellow gamers for thinking deeply about games but embrace the change we wish to see in the world.